


What Happens in Paris

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blow Jobs, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, clint's the brave one, natasha has the patience of a saint, trouble finds them wherever they are, words fail to happen for a long time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6627256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of using his words, Coulson shot Clint in the leg. He's never claimed to be good at this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens in Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre-movies.

Coulson has had to to re-evaluate the way he sees himself since Clint Barton literally fell into his life. A bloody mess and still a smart ass, the archer had slipped between all the cracks in Coulson's armour without even trying. Not that Coulson would ever tell him that. How could he, when Fury had said “Barton is your problem. I want him mission ready in six months.”

Six months, when it could take years to train a normal person as a specialist. Luckily, Clint Barton wasn’t a normal person.

Coulson was though, normal, bland. His ability to play that up when working undercover was his greatest skill. He worked with extraordinary people, witnessed extraordinary events, but none of that really touched him. Not until Clint Barton skipped three levels in a week and Coulson skipped two.

It didn't matter though. For the moment he was still Barton's direct supervisor, he couldn't act on the feelings drumming through his skin whenever he thought about Barton, would never act on them, he decided, the day Barton didn't shoot the Black Widow.

“Sir, I need you not to freak out,” Clint had said. The first words Coulson had heard him say since he deliberately threw his comm unit into the trash.

Coulson had looked very deliberately between where Clint was standing and where the Black Widow was crouched, and then shoot Clint in the leg.

Clint had dropped like a stone, the look on his face almost comical if Coulson's heart hadn't already turned to ice.

“Miss Romanov, you are now under the custody of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. I'd prefer it if you didn't try to resist.”

Natasha had nodded and slowly unfurled herself. Coulson had held out his hand and one of the agents standing behind him moved to hand over some handcuffs. That broke the spell and as Coulson lead Natasha to the waiting transport, medics rushed to Clint's side. Coulson didn’t look back once.

And now Natasha was a fully fledged member of SHIELD, and she and Clint were the best team the organisation had ever seen.

Coulson had never felt so alone.

“So,” Clint was saying, and Coulson blinked back to attention. “Hill said we need to move the mission up a couple of days. That okay?”

“Not a problem,” Coulson replied. He shifted a few files around on his desk until he found the one he was looking for.

“Great,” Clint said and started to leave.

“Barton,” Coulson said and Clint stopped but didn't turn around.

“Boss?”

Coulson tempered down his sigh. “You'll tell Romanov?” he asked, though it was nowhere near what he actually wanted to say.

“On my way there now,” he replied, and headed straight out.

Coulson allowed the sigh out then, once he was sure Clint was far enough away that he couldn’t hear. He would never have considered himself a petty man before, but shooting Clint the day he brought in the Black Widow had been nothing but pettiness. He'd been annoyed at Clint disappearing but mostly angry that Clint hadn't trusted him with what he was planning.

It had cemented his reputation around SHIELD though, no one dared disobey a direct order from Agent Coulson if they fully valued their lives.

But he and Clint had never spoken about it. Not on the transport back to base. Not in the hospital room when Coulson had visited Clint (although he had only gone when he was sure Clint was asleep) and not during all the hours of debriefs the entire team had been subjected to, they'd just gone back to how things had been before. Although nothing was the same and Coulson didn't know which one of them was going to crack first.

* * * * * *

Because the universe hated him the mission went off without a hitch. Normally that would be a cause for celebration, but in this case it meant he, Clint and Natasha had three days in Paris with orders from on high to “enjoy a job well done”. Coulson might have ignored it but Natasha and Clint had looked so eager at a little downtime and Coulson knew if he left they'd feel obliged to as well.

So here he was, stuck in a beautiful hotel with a view of the Eiffel Tower, and wishing himself just about anywhere else.

“I'm going shopping,” Natasha announced. Coulson looked up and found her leaning across from her balcony to his. She was wearing a green dress and had done something complicated with her hair, wearing a braid on top of her head.

Coulson took a sip of his coffee. “Okay,” he replied after it became clear that she was waiting for a response.

“You and Clint should go for a walk. Have some lunch. Have some dinner.”

“You think you’ll be shopping for that long?”

“No,” she replied with an enigmatic smile, and then disappeared back inside her own room.

Coulson sighed. He wasn't sure he was ever going to understand Natasha. Before he could finish his coffee his phone beeped and he saw Natasha had sent him a message.

SHIELD HAS NO FRATERNISATION RULES

He deleted the message as soon as he had read it and finished his coffee.

* * * * *

Coulson didn't know what he was doing, but he did know that Natasha wouldn’t let up until either one of them was dead. And he certainly could do with stretching his legs, and if he happened to invite Clint along...

Even his inner thoughts were starting to sound ridiculous; handily Clint opened his door at the exact moment Coulson was considering jumping into the Seine to avoid Natasha, his feelings and most likely both.

“Coulson? There a problem?”

Coulson swallowed hard before answering. Clint was topless with just a towel around his waist, water dripping from the hair he was drying and splashing on to his chest.

“I – I was just going for a walk, along the river. I wondered if you wanted to join me?”

Clint's expression changed from wary to rabbit in the headlights. Coulson was just about to ask what was wrong when he heard a woman's voice in the room behind Clint.

“Is that room service?”

“I see,” Coulson said. “I'll see you later.” He started to turn away, trying to keep his expression neutral. What Clint did on his downtime was his own business.

“Wait, Coulson, it's not what it looks like.”

Clint grabbed at his arm, dropping the towel he'd been drying his hair with and almost dropping the towel covering the rest of him as well. Coulson kept his eyes on Clint's face.

“Clint, whatever you're...”

“I couldn't sleep,” Clint started to say in a rush, “so I went out for a walk. I saw two guys grab her purse and when she fought back they knocked her into the river. I went in after her, got her out and...”

“And rather than inform the authorities and ensure she got back to her own home, you let her sleep in your bed.”

Clint had the grace to look sheepish.

“Do you even know anything about this woman?”

“Well...” Clint trailed off.

“Some day Clint,” Coulson said, shaking his head, but he didn't bother finishing the thought. “Perhaps your first step should be to get dressed,” he added, pointedly following Clint back into his room.

There they found the woman lying on the bed, completely naked. She shrieked and started to cover herself when she spotted Coulson.

“If you'll just give me a minute ma'am,” Coulson said, not missing a beat, “I'll see that some fresh clothes are brought up for you.” He moved over to the phone and simultaneously glared at Clint, who scooped up his clothes from the back of the chair and hurried into the bathroom.

The woman glared at Coulson but he smiled blandly back at her as he talked on the phone. When he was done he replaced the receiver and perched on the bedside table.

“Ma'am.”

The woman pouted at him, tucked the sheets around her like a toga and went over to the balcony where she had hung her wet clothes to dry. They still looked pretty damp and Coulson could see her debating whether to put them on anyway. Clint came out of the bathroom at that moment and she made to move towards him, glanced at Coulson, and then started pulling her wet clothes on.

“There'll be some clothes here in a minute...” Clint said, looking over at Coulson for confirmation.

“No, thank you,” the woman said. “Goodbye.”

“Wait - “ Clint started to say but she slipped past him and Coulson and headed out of the room. “Huh. That was odd.”

Coulson shook his head. “Check your wallet.”

“What? She wouldn't – she got -” Clint moved over to the table where he'd dumped his wallet and keys. The wallet was still there, but his money wasn’t. “Oh, come on!”

Coulson had to bite his lip to stop from laughing. Only Clint could get himself into these situations.

“Do I have to remind you you work for a super secret spy organisation?” Coulson asked.

“Natasha is never going to let me live this down,” Clint moaned, flopping down on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Coulson did let himself laugh then and he smiled fondly at Clint when he turned to look at him.

“I'm sure she appreciates your Good Samaritan complex as much as the next person,” Coulson said.

Clint snorted and raised himself up on his elbows. “So, lunch?”

* * * * *

They settled on a small café away from the tourist areas; the only other people in the café were a group of five elderly French men playing cards. Coulson sent Clint to order as he needed the practice and found them a table away from the other patrons.

“Pastries and coffees on their way,” Clint said as he sat down opposite Coulson. He positioned himself with a good view of all available exits and stretched out his legs, just brushing a foot casually against Coulson's ankle.

Coulson suddenly realised that he and Clint hadn't been alone together, outside of work, for a good couple of years now. It was enough to make him nervous.

If he were the nervous sort.

As it was he managed to make some small talk about Natasha's plans for the rest of her downtime until their food arrived and then found himself running out of things to say.

Clint tore his pastry in half and licked at his fingers as he ate. Coulson tried to only think good thoughts and took a sip of coffee.

“We haven't done this for a while, have we?” Clint asked, proving he was a braver man than Coulson.

“No, I don't suppose we have.”

“Why is that do you think?” Clint asked. If Coulson didn't know better he'd think it was a simple enquiry. Unfortunately he did know better.

“ _Clint._ ”

“Right, yes, you shot me.”

Clint took a sip of his coffee and then looked over at Coulson. Coulson glanced at the other patrons and then back at Clint. When this was all over they were never going to find Natasha's body.

“You know why...”

“No, I don't,” Clint interrupted. “I know the reason you _said_ you shot me. But I don't think that really counts.”

“I don't think this is the place...” Coulson tried but then trailed off at the unimpressed look on Clint's face.

“Why did you shoot me?”

“You disobeyed a direct...” Coulson started, but then stopped. “ _Clint_ , there's no need to...”

“It's answer the question, or leave, Phil, your choice.”

Coulson blinked at the use of his first name. He couldn’t remember the last time he or Natasha had used it.

“Well?”

Coulson took a deep breath. “I'm sorry.”

Clint looked disappointed. “I wasn't looking for an apology. I was looking for an explanation.”

Coulson finished his coffee as he tried to think of a response. Finally he put the cup down. “I was angry that you didn't trust me,” he said, and winced; it all sounded so incredibly petty now that he'd said it out loud. “I thought we were friends and I...” He shrugged helplessly and like a coward looked away from Clint and out to the street beyond. A little boy was tugging at his father's hands, trying to drag him towards a toy shop.

“I guess I owe you an apology, then.”

Coulson startled.

“What?”

“I should have trusted you. I _did_ trust you. I _do_ trust you.”

Coulson, for want of anything to say, picked absently at his pastry.

“Phil?”

Coulson looked up at Clint. “I don't do these things very well...”

“Yeah?” Clint asked with a laugh. “You think I'm doing great in that department too, huh?”

Coulson smiled. “I suppose judging on recent form...”

Clint grinned and shrugged unapologetically. Coulson fought hard not to find it adorable.

“So, what now?” Coulson asked.

“Now...now we duck!”

Coulson did immediately, not even questioning it. Clint did the same but kicked over the table as gunfire blasted above their heads. They both reached for the guns in their ankle holsters and tried to work out who was shooting at them.

It didn’t take long to realise that they weren't the intended targets – the men who'd been playing cards were.

“Only us,” Coulson muttered to Clint as he motioned towards the back. Clint grinned and nodded, crawling across the broken glass on the floor and heading towards the back door.

Coulson followed close behind, not admiring the view for a second, and slinked to a stop next to the waitress, who was cowering behind the counter.

“We're going to get you out,” he said, in French. “Okay?”

She nodded, wide-eyed and hands shaking as she pointed to her fellow waitress who was lying prone on the floor.

Clint crawled over to her and checked for a pulse. “She's okay,” he said. He hefted her easily over his shoulder and he, Coulson and the other waitress slipped out of the back, through the kitchens and on to the street outside.

“Can you call the police?” Coulson asked. He'd do it himself but he didn't really want two Americans getting caught up in this, regardless of how good their fake ID's were.

The waitress nodded and started reaching for her cell. Clint laid down the other waitress until she looked as comfortable as she could under the circumstances, and then he looked up at Coulson.

Coulson nodded at him. “You'll be okay now,” he said to the waitress but she was already talking to the police and they could hear sirens in the distance so he and Clint started walking away, heading in the opposite direction to the sirens as surreptitiously as they could.

They finally stopped looking over their shoulders after ten minutes when it became pretty clear that no one cared who they were.

“We'll probably be safer back at the hotel,” Clint said.

Coulson snorted. “I don't know, I think trouble follows us no matter where we go.”

“Point,” Clint replied. “The hotel has beds though.”

Coulson almost tripped over his feet. “What?”

“You heard me,” Clint said.

“Yeah. I think I did.” Coulson looked anywhere but at Clint. “Why?”

“Why?” Clint asked. “That's your question? Really?”

“No?” Coulson asked, feeling totally wrong-footed.

Clint shook his head, moved forward, and pulled Coulson into a kiss. He hooked his leg around Coulson's and pushed him up against the nearest wall. It took Coulson a split second before he was kissing Clint back.

Coulson put his hand on Clint's chest and Clint obediently stopped and moved back, raising an eyebrow.

Coulson opened his mouth to say something, but realised that he couldn't think of anything to actually say.

Thankfully Clint took pity on him.

“If you don't realise by now that I've been love with you for years, you really are a dumb-ass.”

“Dumb-ass?” Coulson asked, bemused.

Clint grinned. “Nat's words, not mine.”

“I suppose I owe her an apology too, huh?”

Clint moved forward and kissed Coulson again. “Not right now though, right?”

Coulson smiled. “No, no, I think there's something else we need to do right now.”

* * * * *

Relating this story months later (at Fury's insistence – alcohol may have been involved) Coulson couldn't recall how they'd got back to the hotel, only that once they got through the door to Coulson's room they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

A part of Coulson, a very small, self-sabotaging part, realised that they needed to have a proper conversation, but as Clint ripped at his shirt in his haste to get it off, Coulson couldn’t for the life of him imagine what they had to talk about.

“Bed,” Clint practically growled and Coulson shivered, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to get onto the bed.

Clint smiled down at him fondly, before his expression became more predatory and he crawled on top of Coulson, pulling at his belt as he did so.

“Are you sure...” Coulson started to ask, only for Clint's incredulous expression to stop him before he got started. “ _I'm_ sure,” he added, even though it looked likely that Clint didn't need any reassurance.

“I can see that,” Clint replied, fingers skimming across Coulson's erection and making Coulson buck up off the bed.

“Let's just agree we both know what we're doing,” Coulson said. He ignored the flush he felt to his cheeks as Clint moved down and started pressing kisses to his chest.

“I definitely know what I'm doing,” Clint murmured against his skin. Coulson chuckled and let his head fall back on the pillow. Over thinking had almost made him throw this chance away, maybe he should just shut up and let Clint get on with it.

That proved to be the best idea he'd ever had as Clint finished undressing him, and then pressed kisses to his inner thigh, fingers skimming near his erection but never touching until suddenly warm breath was the only warning he had before Clint's mouth was on him, swallowing and sucking and sending heat pooling in Coulson's belly.

Coulson's hands automatically moved to Clint's head and Clint hummed his approval as Coulson gently rubbed at it, not pushing, just wanting to touch as Clint brought him close to the edge far faster than he would like; it had definitely been a while.

“Clint,” Coulson groaned, “I'm...”

Clint's only response was to hum and Coulson's eyes fluttered shut as Clint swallowed everything he could give.

Several seconds later Coulson realised that Clint was moving back up his body, pressing kisses at his throat and nibbling underneath his jaw. He moved his head to give Clint better access and felt Clint smile against his neck.

“Welcome back, sir,” he drawled.

“Do not call me sir.” He tried to make it sound authoritative, but he had the distinct feeling it came out a needy whine.

“Whatever you say,” Clint laughed. He moved up to eye height with Coulson and Coulson tried to catalogue his expression in case he never got to see it again. “I could get used to this.”

Coulson's surprise must have been evident because Clint sighed and kissed him, quickly, before moving back to see whether his point had been made.

“I just never thought...”

Suddenly getting everything he wanted was making Coulson's head spin.

“I'm going to chalk that up to your brains being otherwise engaged,” Clint said, “though if you haven't got any plans...”

Coulson furrowed his brow for a moment before he realised that Clint was quite obviously holding himself back. “Sorry,” he whispered, against Clint's lips, “but it's your fault for scrambling my brains.”

Clint huffed a laugh that turned into a moan as Coulson's hand found his erection and started moving and then Coulson swallowed his moans with his mouth, moving his hand faster and shifting closer until Clint shuddered and came apart.

This time it was Coulson's turn to press kisses to Clint's jaw as he slowly came back to himself.

“Do you mean that all those safe houses we've been stuck in, we could have been doing that?” Clint finally asked.

“I'm a dumb-ass,” Coulson replied to the ceiling.

“Yeah, you kinda are,” Clint replied, obvious affection warming his voice. “We should sleep.”

Clint moved off slowly to the bathroom and Coulson watched him through hooded eyes. He grimaced as a wet cloth fell on to his chest.

“Really?” Coulson asked, but started cleaning himself up anyway. He watched as Clint drew the curtains and slid under the covers. He took the cloth from Coulson's hand and threw it into the bathroom; Coulson was tempted to check whether it had really got into the sink, but Clint's smirk was already insufferable. The only thing to do was to kiss it off him.

“I could definitely get used to this,” Clint said.

Coulson hummed. “You know it's still light out there?”

“And?” Clint asked, pressing himself close to Coulson's side. Coulson momentarily lost his train of thought, and then before he knew it he was drifting off.

* * * * *

It took Coulson a few seconds to get used to the weight of another body next to him before he realised that that wasn't what had woken him. He turned his head a fraction and found Natasha sitting in the chair by the bed, flicking through a magazine it was too dark for her to read.

He waited a moment to see if she would say anything, and when she didn't, he tried to quietly clear his throat.

“You'll stop being a dumb-ass now?” she asked.

“I'll do my best,” Coulson said, because giving Natasha absolutes to work with never turned out well.

“Good,” she said and stood up, leaving the magazine on the chair. “Break him, I break you.”

“Understood,” Coulson replied, assuming she could see his expression even though he couldn't make out hers.

He thought he saw her nod before she turned around and left the room, and he took a gulp of air and tried to remember how to breath easily again.

“She was talking to me too,” Clint said, snuggling closer to Coulson. “She thinks we're both dumb-asses.”

Coulson pressed a kiss behind Clint's ear and settled back to sleep. They'd be up all night and wired for their trip back to the States, but he didn't really care. For now it was easy, and he'd take that over harsh reality any day.

“We'll just have to prove her wrong then, won't we?” Coulson asked.

Clint hummed a drowsy assent, but that was enough for Coulson. Maybe sometimes he could get what he wanted, and keep it, after all.  



End file.
